


Double-Edged

by MoanDiary



Series: Moan Your Way Through Fuckruary [16]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bloodplay, Established Relationship, F/M, Fuckruary 2020 (Lucifer TV), Humor, Lucifer is a snacc (literally), Prompt: Bloodplay, Vamp Chloe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22917448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoanDiary/pseuds/MoanDiary
Summary: “Oooh, Detective, I’m more than okay,” he says, blinking at her slowly. "Why didn’t you tell meyourblood was such a delight as well?”
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Moan Your Way Through Fuckruary [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626784
Comments: 18
Kudos: 183





	Double-Edged

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I Won't Believe in Death 'Til I Die](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20924621) by [MoanDiary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoanDiary/pseuds/MoanDiary). 



Chloe has always been prepared for the possibility of injury in the line of duty. She’s never imagined being injured in the line of hunting for a buttplug.

Lucifer insists it’s his favorite, and that Maze had it last, so there both of them are, naked, rooting around in the terrifying mess of Maze’s room looking for it. The old Chloe would have scoffed at putting so much time and effort into finding sex equipment. The old Chloe believed that the only thing you needed besides a mouth and fingers was _maybe_ a vibrator. But the old Chloe did not fully appreciate what the Devil can do with the right tools. The old Chloe also wasn’t plagued by a preternaturally insatiable sex drive.

“Don’t you think it’d be in the dildo crate?” Chloe grouses.

“Once again, Detective, that’s ridiculous. They serve two very distinct purposes—”

Chloe is groping blindly along the top shelf of her sometime roommate’s closet, nodding and rolling her eyes as Lucifer lectures her, when her fingers swipe against something cold and sharp. She jerks her hand back with a pained yelp, gripping her smarting fingertips with her other hand. Lucifer is instantly at her side, taking in her expression and standing on his tiptoes to peer over the edge of the shelf. He fishes out a small, apparently razor-sharp dagger from where it had been lurking along the back wall and gives it a resentful look before tossing it onto what could only be described as the “dagger pile,” part of Maze’s simple and haphazard organizational system.

“Let me see that, now,” he says softly, taking her hands in his. She unclenches her hand from around her injured fingers, revealing a palm smeared with blood. Vampiric healing means the wounds, which form a segmented line across three fingers, have already begun to close, however. She feels a little silly making a big deal out of it. She’s still not used to her fairly newfound abilities. Measly little cuts are nothing to yelp about anymore.

She covers her embarrassment by leveling a flirty gaze at him. “Kiss it better?” He smirks and lays soft kisses on each of her injured fingers, then sucks all three of them into his mouth, swiping his tongue over the wounds. The pleasure-pain of it sends a thrill of sensation straight between her legs. She closes her eyes and sighs. “Forget the buttplug, let’s just—”

She opens her eyes again and the sight of her face stops her short. His eyes are glazed and his pupils are huge. There’s a spaced-out, giddy expression on his face, one she’s only seen when she’s come across him under the influence of drugs. Like, _a lot_ of drugs.

“Lucifer, are you—are you okay?”

“Oooh, Detective, I’m more than okay,” he says, blinking at her slowly, a huge smile spreading across his face. He raises his hands to stroke them absently up and down her sides. “Why didn’t you tell me _your_ blood was such a delight as well?”

Chloe gapes at him, then stares at her hand, which he licked mostly clean. “I...didn’t know?”

He raises his hands to her hair and buries them in it, bunching it and running the strands between his fingers. “Your hair feels nice,” he says dreamily. “You’re so pretty.”

She laughs, catching his hands and removing them from her hair. “And you’re so...high?”

“Can we still have sex?” he asks, attempting a seductive look that’s undermined by the fact that he’s now slowly rubbing his own cheeks, apparently delighting in the sensation of his stubble against his palms. “This feels very similar to extremely high-grade Molly and I’d hate to let it go to waste.”

He leans towards her and his renewed erection jabs at her belly. She gives it a reassuring squeeze and Lucifer hums, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against the crown of her head, hands coming up to grip her ass.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” she says to his insistent devilhood. She steers Lucifer over to the foot of Maze’s bed and sits him down, looking appraisingly into his eyes. With every blink, his unfocused gaze seems to be clearing and sharpening. She thinks back to her foggy memories of her unfortunate incident with Janelle in the alleyway, almost a year ago now. Remembers the pain of the bite, a bone-deep cold as she was drained, and then a dripping wrist being pressed to her mouth. And when she drank—ecstasy. A feeling like flying, her whole body itching with sensation, a love for everyone and everything, especially the woman before her. Similar to how she feels when she drinks from Lucifer, yet wholly different at the same time.

“This is gonna sound dumb,” she begins. Lucifer blinks again and his lips quirk in the beginnings of a wry, lucid smile. “But angels can’t catch vampirism, can they?”

He pauses to consider it, looking oddly serious and contemplative for a nude man with a raging hard-on sitting on a bed in a room full of weapons and sex toys. “Seems highly unlikely. It’s essentially a communicable disease, and angels can’t catch human diseases.” He brightens. “Does this mean you’re considering letting me take another hit? Please, may I? It’s already wearing off,” he teases.

Chloe pushes him down onto his back and he goes eagerly, scooting backwards as she crawls on top of him. When he’s settled against the pillows, she lowers down to lay on top of him, skin to skin, luxuriating in the contrast between her skin’s cool silk and his hot velvet. He’s apparently enjoying it even more, writhing restlessly as his hands wander over her. She reaches down and slots his burning cock between her thighs, letting her ample wetness lubricate it as she thrusts her hips back and forth. His length slips against her pussy pleasantly enough, but Lucifer _really_ likes it, his mouth slack and hips rocking in eager counterpoint to hers.

“Oh, darling,” he wheezes. “That’s...that’s _lovely._ ”

Having him so submissive and relaxed and willing beneath her always seems to flip a switch for her. His pulse becomes almost unbearably loud, accelerating into a continuous bass thrum that she can feel throughout her entire body. Her fangs descend and she licks them eagerly.

“You don’t mind if I take the edge off, do you?” she croaks, mouth suddenly bone dry. Fuck, she’s thirsty. Hungry. Horny. Really, _really_ horny.

“I’m at your disposal,” he pants, angling his head to the side, offering his neck to her.

She sinks her teeth into him and drinks a few quick gulps, thighs tightening around him and back arching, ass raising up so high the head of his cock almost slips free before she rocks her hips back into his. He cries out and grips her hips, jerking in orgasm beneath her. 

She presses firmly on the puncture wounds on his neck until the bleeding slows while he recovers, eyes closed and panting, a blissful smile on his face. She absently uses her wet fingers to draw crimson trails down his neck and along his collar bone. 

“Good?” she asks when he begins to stir a bit, his fingers running through the come he left on the backs of her thighs.

“Very,” he rumbles. She barely registers the tightening of his fingers on her legs before he flips her onto her back, swooping to kiss her so deeply and passionately they’re both panting for breath when they finally part. “You—are—a—font—of—utter—pleasure,” he declares, punctuating each word with a kiss pecked on her face or her jaw or her neck.

“Would you love me even if I weren’t?” she asks, intending it to come out playful, but finding instead that it sounds more than a little insecure.

“ _Chloe.”_ He cradles her face in his hands and forces her to look at him. He’s dead serious, eyes fixed and shining and ancient, somehow, the points of light reflected in them like distant stars. “Never doubt it for a second.”

Her heart thumps painfully and she gives him a watery smile. “But since I am…” She reaches down to the floor beside the bed and retrieves a small silver knife from the dagger pile, offering it to him hilt first. “Why don’t you have a drink, too?”

His eyes widen, in shock or excitement or disbelief, she’s not exactly sure. “You’re certain, Detective?” he murmurs cautiously. They’ve dabbled in a little light BDSM, and Lucifer made sure she was well-versed in the rules of engagement and the proper usage of a safe word, but they haven’t done anything like this before.

She breathes out slowly, remembering the bite of sharp pain and pleasure when he sucked on her cut, the increasingly familiar primal voice in the back of her head that crows that she _owns_ him. “Yes.”

He takes the knife from her and crawls backward towards her feet, sitting back on his heels, appraising her like a sculptor considering a block of marble as she lies splayed out before him.

The cold touch of the blade is a shock against her skin and she winces despite herself, bracing for pain, but he hasn’t actually cut her yet. The flat of the blade rests, feather-light, against her ankle as he watches her closely, waiting to see if she’ll use the safe word.

She stays silent except for her trembling breath, and gives him a tiny nod. He skims the blade up the inside of her calf, letting the sharp edge rasp against her skin. All of her attention focuses on that tiny point of sensation, cold and sharp and just a hair’s breadth away from danger. As the blade nears the crease where her thigh meets her pelvis, he slows, and she thinks he might press it in—

—but instead he trails it back down, taking a different route, and she lets out a harsh breath, chest heaving. He repeats the same thing on her other leg, then on her left arm, and it’s here that finally, when she least expects it, he changes his angle in a tiny, expert movement, letting the blade slice into her skin ever-so-shallowly. She gasps and twitches, watching as a dark bead of blood blossoms from the tiny cut. His mouth replaces the blade almost instantly, licking and sucking eagerly. She cries out at the sensation. Never before has she seen her upper arm as an erogenous zone, but from the way it feels, he may as well be sucking on her clit.

A few moments later, the wound has closed and he leaves it with a final kiss, returning the knife to her skin. She glances down and notices he’s once again fully erect. He follows her gaze and then looks back at her with a grin. “You’re like all-natural Viagra.”

Chloe’s chuckle turns into a gasp as he returns the knife to her other arm, trailing it down all the way to the tips of her fingers. He presses the sharp point gently into the pad of her middle finger and she pushes it up into the blade, trying to get him to cut her again, but he pulls the knife away with a chastising shake of the head, wagging the blade at her.

“Nuh-uh, Detective. I’ll decide when and where.”

Nevertheless, when he returns it to her, he’s clearly no longer playing. He brings the sharp edge to her jaw and runs it to her chin and then across her parted lips before trailing it down her neck. Her breathing quickens as it skims the place where she bites him most often, along the jugular just below the jaw, but he passes over it and continues until he reaches the swell of her breast. He slices her again there, deeper this time, and when his mouth goes to her, he sucks for several long moments before the bleeding stops, each pull shooting sensation down to the fire blazing between her legs, each one making her writhe and mewl beneath him.

When his head rises back up to look at her, his eyes are unfocused again, pupils blown wide. She looks down to see his cock twitching as his hips shift restlessly into nothing, and she wonders whether she should just end this and ask him to fuck her, but he’s still holding back, resisting his body’s obvious desire. The blade, when it returns to her, is less controlled and less precise. He lets it dip into her in a dozen tiny, shallow cuts as he trails down her abdomen. At each, he only pauses long enough to swipe at her with his tongue, to smear her blood rather than clean it away, marking her much as she marked him earlier, the swipe of blood down his neck like a brand to the world: “He’s mine.” And she’s his, too. In every way, even in this way.

At last, he’s between her legs. He lets the blade rasp through her neatly-trimmed pubic hair and places the tip ever so gently against her clit. The sensation is brilliant and intense, each of the nerves the sharp point touches explode like fireworks and she cries out, wanting him to do something—to either make it stop or go further, she’s not sure. For a moment he seems indecisive, too, eyes blazing hot and intense, but in the end, he throws the knife aside and puts his mouth on her all at once, lips hot and wet and eager. Her hands come up to grip his hair, pressing his head into her, hard.

He is all motion as she grinds into him. What movement isn’t spent driving her towards her peak is used to rub his whole body against the beding, oversensitized and desperate from a combination of potent vampire blood and his own innate devilish wantonness. The sight of his smooth, muscular ass flexing as he thrusts into the mattress drives her over the edge, and she comes into his mouth, thighs like a vice around his head. Time seems to stop for a while and she loses track of everything but her breath and the pounding of her heart. When she comes back to herself, he’s still writhing and lapping at her, keeping her buoyed on a wave of pleasure.

“H-hey,” she says as she catches her breath, tugging on his hair. His eyes are wild and unfocused when he looks up at her. “I want you in-...inside of me.”

He nods furiously, eagerly, and clambers up her body. She grabs his bobbing cock and his hand joins hers a split second later, their fingers dancing against each other as they guide it into her.

“Yes,” he mutters as he slides all the way home, dazed and high and already half-way overcome. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Fuck me as hard as you want,” she gasps. And he does, long past the days when he worried about hurting her or frightening her with his inhuman strength and insatiable desire. He thrusts into her violently, sharp hip bones knocking against hers, pelvis hammering her clit over and over. She welcomes all of it. There are few physical things that can truly hurt her now, and this least of all. His desire never tires her. She loves to make him lose control, to make him show her the depths of his desperation, his need.

She digs her fingernails into his back, clawing at him as she fights towards another orgasm. He loops one arm under her lower back and lifts her hips easily off the bed in order to get a better angle. The new orientation lets him thrust relentlessly into her G-spot and she comes again, abruptly, stars bursting behind her eyelids.

She hears him shout and feels him tense around her, and he’s coming again too, his entire body quaking.

They collapse on the bed a few moments later, Lucifer boneless and heavy but not unpleasant atop her and inside her, hips still thrusting aimlessly with each aftershock.

By the time they catch their breath, she assumes her blood has worn off again, but Lucifer’s gaze when he pulls back to look at her is still soft and dopey. She decides the line between love and intoxication is hard to put a finger on.

“Where is Maze, anyway?” he wonders aloud, perhaps finally remembering that they’re lying entangled in the demon’s unmade bed.

Chloe laughs. “Well, you know that mom at Charlie’s preschool, Karen?”

Lucifer’s brow furrows. “The one she always refers to as—“

“—That PTA Bitch,” they say in unison.

“Well, apparently…” Chloe trails off, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

“That’s my Maze,” Lucifer sighs, trailing his fingers absently up and down her arm.

Chloe looks appraisingly at the sheets around them. They’ve left a substantial amount of bodily fluids here. She knows Maze wouldn’t mind them using her bed for sex, but she probably wouldn’t love having to sleep in evidence of it. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your perspective), bloodstain removal is now part of Chloe’s everyday routine.

“To the laundry, eh?” Lucifer asks muzzily, mouth half-muffled by her neck.

“Again.”

“You know, we could just invest in a tarp.”

“If we do, you’re in charge of carrying it around.”

“Hmm. ‘Lucifer Morningstar, Sex Tarp Caddy.’ It’s not my _least_ favorite title.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

He props himself up on one elbow and grins down at her. “You love it, though.”

She bites his sweet mouth hard enough to bleed. The sheets already need to be washed. It won’t hurt to get them a little dirtier.


End file.
